Queer bent bastard

She gave me a big smile as she said, “Baby, you are my favourite child. I love you, and nothing will ever change that.”

“I’m your only child, Mom,” I responded with a small smile of my own.

“Well, even if you weren’t, you’d still be my favourite,” she said with a grin. “Whatever made you think I would love you any less because you’re gay?”

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I know I should have known better, but I’ve read so many stories where parents can’t accept it. I guess I was afraid you would be disappointed in me.”

“Why on earth would I be disappointed?” she asked. “It’s not like you chose to be gay. And even if you did, it’s such a small part of who you are.”

“Trust me, I didn’t choose to be gay,” I said.

“Yes, I know,” she said with a grin. “I’m not that naïve or uninformed, kiddo.” She then took my hand and said, “It’s dinnertime. Come on, let’s go in and find something to eat.”

We dug around in the kitchen and found some leftovers before sitting down to eat. We talked through dinner and late into the evening about everything: about being gay, my fears of being discovered, Jason’s reaction, that I should be proud of who I am, that I may lose some friends and gain others, HIV/AIDS, being careful, and several other things no guy wants to talk to his mother about. But, all-in-all, we had a wonderful evening and I went to bed that night feeling seventy percent better. The thirty percent uncertainty was because of Jason’s reaction. That thirty percent would prove to be significant on Monday.